


Clarity

by scrubbadub



Category: South Park
Genre: Eric Cartman Being An Asshole, M/M, pre relationship kytters, pulling the same shit that he does every single day, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 22:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrubbadub/pseuds/scrubbadub
Summary: Cartman thinks that he can pull off a cool trick and accidentally hurts Butters in the process. Him and Kyle have a heart to heart during the aftermath and learn that maybe, just maybe, they’ve got a little more in common than they first thought.





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Pre relationship Kytters. I wanted something sweet between the two of them because I think they have a very good chemistry slash potential for a relationship. Also, because fuck Eric Cartman, that's why.

"_Fuck you_, Cartman, there's _no way_ that's physically possible!"

Ohh, boy. Butters can hear the two boys already bickering on his way to the bus stop. He's grown accustomed to hearing them go back and forth in the morning for some reason or another, but it never makes it easier to wake up to, their game of cat and mouse. Either Eric is the cat, or vice versa.

He tries not to pay it much mind.

"Yeah _huh_, I saw it on the fucking National Geographic, _Kyle_, it is too possible!"

He takes to standing next to Stan and peers over at the two's bitching, then speaks up. "Uh- what'd y'all see on National Geographic?"

Eric turns, a mischievous, determined grin flashing onto his face. "Butters, okay, hear me out-"

"Will you _drop it already?_ You're just going to end up _hurting_ someone, Jesus!"

Oh, so it's one of those days.

"Shut up, Kyle. Anyways, okay, so I was watching the stupid fucking National Geographic channel, or whatever, because my mom sucks and wouldn't let me watch Terrance and Phillip after dinner, which is so _stupid_, I'm still mad-"

That's… reasonable, he thinks, but he doesn't voice it. Best to just let him get the words out of his system.

"- and then this show comes on, and this guy is like, I can bring a man back from death itself, watch how I do it! Which was totally cool, like, I'd watch that over Terrance and Phillip, I _guess._"

"It was _fucking staged_!! They're all actors, Cartman, are you serious--"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle, I'm not done! Butters, do you want Kyle to keep being a little bitch about this or do you want to hear me explain this totally awesome and cool thing that I can totally do now because I definitely practiced it on Kenny?"

"Oh my God, is _that_ why Kenny isn't here today? You're an asshole!"

Ah. It really is one of those days. He's not a stranger to being pulled into the middle of their little arguments, sometimes not so little, but he really rather wishes he wasn't the one who had to be pulled. "Uh… I- I mean. I could keep listenin', you seem pretty excited about it?"

"Sweet. Get this, Butters, I totally learned how to stop a guy's heart from this show, I'm super fucking serial about this. I practiced it on Kenny and I brought him back and everything, he can tell you I can do it! Kyle is being a pussy and thinks I can't do it."

"Because you _can't!_"

"Because he's a little coward bitch, Butters. Don't be Kyle."

Kyle lets out a noise of frustration and throws up his hands in distress, and he looks at the both of them nervously. "... That's, that's pretty neat!"

"Wanna see it?"

"Huh?" He _stops_.

Kyle pauses, too, and Stan looks back over. "I can totally prove that I can do it. C'mere."

"Cartman, don't you dare." Kyle looks more nervous than frustrated, now, he notices.

"Don't tell me what to do, Kyle, you're not my fuckin' mom! It'll be like five seconds, Butters, trust me. It'll be so cool. I'll tell everybody ‘hey guys, Butters is super cool, he came back from the dead today’," Well- that… that doesn't sound good. He likes the idea of people cheering for him, though. "And they're gonna be like, ‘oh my God, Butters, that's so cool, we totally want to make out with you and stuff and have a bunch of cool, hot sex with you’!"

"Uh." He doesn't really like the idea of having his heart stopped just to get with a bunch of really nice ladies. "Eric, I dunno- my, my dad'll get real sore with me if I come home havin' died, or somethin' similar-"

"Butters, stop being such a pussy."

Kyle crosses his arms. Stan's watching along with worry. "Kyle, just say that he can do it so he stops trying to practice on Butters, dude, c'mon."

"No!! I _know_ he's bullshitting us, Stan, he's been on this for three days now! Every single day at lunch, and now he's practicing on Kenny- he can't stop a goddamn heart! It is _staged_ and I can _prove_ it!"

Stan moves as if to talk back, but he doesn't get the chance to watch him go back and forth with Kyle, because he's being grabbed on the arm by Cartman and positioned to stand in front of him; he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. What if he really does die? What if, somehow, Eric really can do it, but he can't bring him back, and he stays dead? Or what if he goes home with a bruise on his chest because Eric's kind of a hard hitter, and his dad gets all mad and grounds him for being a pussy? Ooh, he'd really be in for it then--

"Oh, yeah, Kyle? Butters is gonna be my test dummy and I'm _so_ gonna prove you wrong! Watch and learn at the amazing might of _Eric Cartman! Hyahhh!_"

He doesn't get to protest, because Eric's already gearing his arms up and making hand motions, and he starts to panic. He's supposed to believe that people don't lie, or at least, Eric wouldn't lie to _him_, he has to--

Then there's fingers being slammed and twisted into his chest, and ow, okay, that hurts a little, but nothing really happens beyond that. "... Did'ja maybe do it wrong, E--" 

Ah. There it is. He stumbles back, just a little, tries again to catch his breath and continue talking, and then just kind of… falls forward onto the ground with an unsatisfying thump, limbs splayed out just a little. Eric looks on in shock. Or, at least, he sure hopes that's what he's doing. There's a lot going on in his chest that he can't really decipher, mostly _hurt_, and the feeling that something isn't working right, and someone might be poking him somewhere-

Then he can breathe, even if it's not well, and even if his chest still burns like someone shot him. "_Sweet Mother Mary!_"

"Butters."

"Oh, God, what, what was, _you can actually do that--_"

"_Butters!_" Kyle's panicking in the background, maybe, he sees him doing something, but Eric's propping him back up while the blood rushes back to his head and away from his heart, and things are unsteady. Ohh, he's gonna smart for a while after this, isn't he? It's still kind of hard to breathe. He should go get checked out. Why'd he go and let Eric do a thing like that-- "Butters, listen to me, I told you I could do it but you can't tell anyone I can, okay, it's a super duper secret between all of us. _Right_, Kyle? Stan?"

Stan just kind of throws up his hands in defeat, but Kyle swivels around to face the both of them, shaking. "_You're an irresponsible piece of shit_, Cartman, you almost fucking _killed him_!"

"Oh, what's that? Is that the sound of Eric was _right_ that I hear?"

"_Fuck you!!_ God, I just- of course! Of course!" He watches Kyle gesticulate for a few moments before wiping his hands down his face, then he takes a deeeeep breath, and tries again. Well- he's glad that Kyle's trying to learn how to work better with stuff like this. He sure wishes he knew how to do anger management like that. "It wasn't about whether or not you _could_ do it."

"Yes, it was."

"Shut up, fatass, I'm not done talking!"

"_Hey!_ I'm _big boned_, I'm not fat!" He stands back up and leaves Butters on his own, and when he hobbles back up onto his feet unsteadily, he feels someone leveraging him fully upright. When he turns to look at who it is, he sees Stan. 

"You okay, man? That was kind of wild."

Kyle keeps on going, and he doesn't want to interrupt them again, but he doesn't want to let Stan think he's being rude by not answering, either, even if he thinks it might hurt to talk. He swallows gingerly, hands shaking. All of him is still shaking, actually.

"The _point was _that you shouldn't _do that_, Cartman, because he's, oh, I don't know, your _friend_? And that you _don't try to murder your friends_? God forbid you have even a _fraction_ of common sense-"

"Yeah," He finally replies, "I, I, I- think, yeah. I'm… okay. Good't go, buddy!"

"Ooh, mister moral compass, here, look at you! He's fine, Kyle, and it was _super funny_ until he dropped like that- fuck you, Butters, by the way, that was shitty."

"-- huh?" He doesn't know what he did.

"Come on, Cartman, lay off! You're the one who stuck your fingers in his chest like that, you probably broke a rib or something. I'd drop, too." Stan's got his back, which is kind of surprising. Kenny finally ambles into the group and Cartman swoops in on him, trying to save face. Kenny looks pretty groggy. He sure hopes the guy is doing okay.

"... are you sure you're okay, though? Because you look kind of shitty."

He takes stock. Is he okay?

Well, his chest hurts, but it's fading, now, a background dull ache that he can manage, probably, and he still can't quite catch his breath correctly, but that might be the leftover shock of Eric actually managing to do something like momentarily stop his heart. He thinks that he saw a cartoon character do that, once, but he can't remember where from. His head hurts, sure, and his hands are shaky, and he's very confused, but he's… okay, or at least okay enough to get on the bus.

"Yeah, don't, don't worry about me, buddy, I'm good! I, really, it's just a lil' thing, I, uh- I sure do hope it won't bruise, though, that'd… really suck." He decides that speaking a little slower is a good idea. He doesn't want to be spitting his words out like Jimmy. It's hard for anyone to stammer and stumble on their words as much as Jimmy does, though.

"... All right, if you're sure."

There's a muffled exclamation next to him and he turns. Cartman's laughing, and so is Kenny, even if he looks kind of annoyed in the process. Finally, the bus begins to pull up.

"... Did I actually fall like that? Like, real quick-like an' everything?"

Cartman is quick to respond, and Kyle chimes in, too, both going into detail, if not for his sake but Kenny's, and he takes a seat nearby as he climbs onto the bus, welcoming the normalcy.

So maybe it's just a _regular_ day. He can handle that.

He gets to class, and things don't really feel much better, physically, but he deals with it. He's still a little confused, more than his fair share of sleepy, groggy in a way that he can't quite seem to shake, and it clings to him stubbornly, kind of like a dog that just won't stop following what it smells; he doesn't know if the metaphor fits, but that just goes to show how slow things are going in his ol' noggin.

When he sits down, he tries to make his foot stop tapping against the ground, but it doesn't listen well. Oh, well- he just hopes the teacher doesn't tell him off for that.

He doesn't mind the dirty look that he gets from Cartman for it, anyways. He knew that would happen.

She keeps going on to say something about history, about the Alamo, maybe; his teacher, ohh, she tries her best, she does, but he's just a rude little man who can't pay attention. His chest aches too much for him to try and really focus hard on what's being said.

He looks up from his paper and tries regardless, though, and catches the glance of Kyle. He looks focused, but not on his papers.

He'd be tempted to say that Kyle's looking at _him_, but that would mean he's worrying his head off about something or other, and he doesn't want to worry Kyle. He's already got so much to worry about- like Eric, and being Jewish, though he's not entirely sure why the two seem to conflate with the other. (Yes, he is. He's entirely sure why.)

The teacher calls on him and he jumps to attention, and something inside his chest gives a sharp tug; he stops. 

"I--"

Something's wrong. He doesn't know what's wrong. Things aren't working.

"Well, can you tell me the answer?"

He trembles. What's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong--

"Teacher, I think he needs to go to the nurse, he looks like he's gonna pass out--" He doesn't get to hear the rest of Kyle's talking, because he's falling, falling deeper than he can remember ever falling in the first place; he lands on the floor, though it feels slow, snail-like, and there's shouting.

Someone's grabbing him. When did he start grabbing at his shirt? He doesn't remember doing that.

It feels like knives, he remembers what that feels like, was-- did he get stabbed somehow? Ooh, there's gonna be trouble if he got stabbed. He doesn't… how would he get stabbed, though, he's at school--

"_Open your eyes_, goddamn it!!" He gasps to attention. Someone slapped him. He can't focus on who, but he recognizes the green. He's being picked up by somebody else, but he reaches out for something to hold onto. Something he can cling to while he tries to kickstart his body back into working, even while he fails.

He finds a hand in the receding light, grabs for purchase, and he refuses to let go. It's what he's good at.

Clinging, that is.

There's disjointed memories after that, someone who might be the nurse trying to get him to stay awake, someone talking to him in jumbled words and sentences, the feeling of begging, and then things slip further away and he can’t hear them anymore. It’s quiet.

… he finds that he doesn’t mind the quiet, for as long as he’s under. It’s always the aftermath that he hates.

The quiet, though, the fog, the feeling of floating and being without worrying about who said what or who’s going to hurt him or when he’ll eat next, the _silence_… it’s nice. It never _lasts_, though.

One day, he thinks, it’ll last. He wants to do a lot of things before it stretches on forever before that happens.

When he does start to climb back into consciousness, he realizes, dimly, that he's holding someone's hand. He knows it's a hand because it feels shaped like one, and he would know what skin is anytime. Hazarding a small squeeze, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes just a little, groaning.

Huh. He's at- a hospital.

He hates hospitals.

He hates hospitals so much, he- he can't be in one. If he's in a hospital they're just gonna do tests and put him in a room by himself or tell him lies and try and stuff him full of _fucking medication that he doesn't need_\-- Whoever's hand he's holding, the person stirs when he starts to shift up into a sitting position, and he turns to face them.

Oh. It's… Kyle. He… Kyle wouldn't let him get broken into by a whole bunch of doctors, so… okay, it. He's fine. Just for now.

Kyle's smart enough to get the doctors to go away, anyways.

He finds that when he takes stock of himself, once the panic subsides after waking up, that his chest no longer hurts in a very terrible sort of way, just a deep, bone-weary lingering ache, a reminder of why he’s here in the first place. There’s an IV in his arm when he looks down at it and some tube up his nose that he’s not too comfortable with, but pulling those out would be irresponsible, and he’d bleed and get in trouble for that, so.

He’ll just tolerate it.

A deep breath. He can breathe, and when he closes his eyes, there’s the telltale tharrump-ump of his heart in his chest telling him it’s working, even if it’s tired. It’s a good heart. It’s trying its best and that’s what matters.

“... nngh. Butters?”

Turning, he sees Kyle finally, _finally_ leverage himself upright in the chair, and then he remembers oh _Jesus_ he’s still holding Kyle’s hand, and clears his throat. Feels a little scratchy, and kind of tastes like something died in his mouth, but that happens every time he wakes up in a hospital, so he knows how to tolerate that. “... sorry for, for scarin’ y’all. What… happened?”

He lets go of Kyle’s hand. His palm feels colder without it there.

Kyle takes his hand back and kind of rubs at it gently, then takes a deep breath, letting it out in one sharp, short puff of air. “I don’t know, dude, the doctor said you had a heart attack? A really fucking bad one, I guess. You just… dropped out of your seat in class, and nobody knew what was going on- and of _course_ Cartman bolted the moment the teacher called 911, because I bet it’s because of that bullshit he pulled yesterday-”

Wait. “Wait, I’ve been in here for an entire _day?_ Oh, Jesus.”

“It’s fine. Your parents already know, they’re, uh- kind of blaming the school.”

That… huh. That’s surprising. “... they ain’t blamin’ me?”

“Last I heard, they were trying to press charges against the school for something about putting chemicals in the food that made your heart weaker. It’s total chickenshit, Butters, there’s _nothing_ they could put in our food that could give us a_ heart attack_, and if they _had_, we all would have had a heart attack- it’s not some grand conspiracy!”

He… well, that sounds about right, his dad can get a little heated and a little paranoid, but he’s just glad that he’s not being blamed for this. He’d probably get grounded for a while if so.

“That, well, that’s okay. That they think it ain’t my fault, anyways, I sure don’t know what I’d do if they did.”

“How is having a _heart attack_ your fault, Butters? You don’t control the things your body does! At least- not as far as your organs go. You do control some parts. Like not thinking with your dick.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s something someone told me once.” Kyle shrugs, and he chuckles, just a little, even though it hurts to chuckle. Right there, somewhere deep in his chest, just kind of pinches a little. 

“Well, that’s silly. Dicks don’t have thoughts. Lil’ fellers can hardly stand up!”

That earns a choked off snort from Kyle, and things ease up a bit. He wasn’t outwardly aware that there was tension in the room, but whatever was there is gone, now, and he feels a little better. Maybe… waking up in a hospital room if Kyle’s by his side isn’t too bad. It’s still _bad_, but it’s… tolerable.

“Dicks don’t think, Butters, that’s stupid.”

“Aw, well, I suppose, I suppose that’s true.” He thinks for a moment. “... how come you’re here if I’ve been in here for a day, Kyle?”

Kyle freezes. It takes a moment for him to respond, and he looks a little embarrassed with his answer, but he keeps his mouth shut and let him talk. That’s the respectful thing to do. Besides, Kyle’s not doing anything shitty, so there’s no need to interrupt him.

“Well- you wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

“Huh?”

Kyle drags a hand over one of his cheeks and takes a deep breath. “You wouldn’t let go of my hand, and anytime they tried to, you know, drag your hand off of mine or seperate us, you started to freak out, so they… they kind of told me I had to stay here until you fall asleep. Except even when you fell asleep and got out of fucking surgery or whatever,”

“Wait, surgery?” Is _that_ why some of his body feels all tingly and numb? He doesn’t know how painkillers work, what kind of surgery--

“Yeah, I guess they had to put something called a stent into your chest because your heart wasn’t working, and then they closed you up, and then I threw up, and they gave me an apple? Which is stupid, you shouldn’t have an apple in a surgical room, they had me in scrubs and there was some guy in the corner eating a fucking burrito! I hate this hospital. Anyways,”

“I. Uh.” This isn’t helping.

“They closed you up and then you still wouldn’t let go, so when my mom came to pick me up, because she caught wind that I was here with you and started freaking out, which is… par for the course, I’m used to it by now- the doctors tell her I can’t leave, because apparently you refused to let go. She and the doctor had a screaming match for three hours, dude.”

“... wow.” That’s a long time.

“Yeah.” Kyle chuckles, just a little, and it’s then that he notices that he’s got a blanket draped over the chair. There’s a few books near his chair, too, and his phone’s on the side of the bed; he… he really _did_ stay the entire time for him. He didn’t have to.

Kyle didn’t have to do that. “... but why did you stay? You, you could’a just… left. You could’a gone.”

“And prove Cartman right? Fuck no!” Aw, he knew it probably had something to do with that. It always loops back to something those two are up to. “That rat bastard bet me that I would leave the moment you got in the hospital, and I’m not proving him right! It’s his fault you’re even in here in the first place, Butters, for fuck’s sake!”

"Aw, well, he didn't mean for it to go this far, Kyle, I, I bet that-"

"We both know that's not true and he's eating up all the attention he can fucking get. Why the hell do you let him _do_ this shit to you, Butters?" That's… that's a great question.

Eric pays attention to him. Eric gives him the time of day and acknowledges he exists. He includes him, and yes, he gets hurt, and no, he doesn't particularly enjoy Eric's company, too often, and he… he finds that he's the butt of most of his jokes, but telling him no is like pulling a tooth out. Telling anyone no is like pulling a tooth out. A terrifying tooth.

"We're friends."

That's apparently not the right answer, because Kyle stands, frustrated. "No, you're not! Friends don't give their other friends heart attacks, they don't convince you that the world is destroyed just so they can take your place at a birthday party, they sure as hell don't get you to respond to an _active firefight_ so they can get to class-- I heard about that, Butters, you could have gotten _shot_! Seriously! He's not your friend."

"Yes he is!" He doesn't know why this is so important to him. Eric's his _friend_. They have a complicated relationship, sure, and maybe Eric scares him, _maybe_ he conflates him to the same authoritative power as his dad on some level, but he can't _help_ that. They're friends. "Eric's my friend because we hang out after school and have tea parties and maybe he likes to dress me up like a teddy bear sometimes and pretend I'm roadkill, but that's a game, we're _friends_ and we play friend games and _you wouldn't get it, Kyle_!"

His chest hurts again, so he takes a pause to rub at it, hoping it'll go away. … he wants more painkiller.

Kyle sits back down. "... No, dude. He's really not."

"Prove it." Oh, he's not gonna fall for these silly tricks, not if he can't help it-- so he wants proof.

"He put you in the hospital, for starters."

"... Well, yeah, he, that… that happens."

That doesn't earn him the reaction he wanted; Kyle makes a very frustrated face, then groans, shoving the balls of his hands into his eyes for a moment before recovering.

"Putting you in the hospital more than once isn't something friends do, Butters!" He doesn't want to hear this. He deserved it, probably, he always deserves it- "They don't feed you things you're allergic to, they don't trick you into thinking things so they can take your place, they don't throw you under the bus so you take the blame for something they did, and they don't stop your heart because they think it's funny and land you in the hospital! He's _not your friend_, so fucking wake up to it already and stop _enabling_ him, Jesus!"

_He doesn't have to listen if he doesn't want to--_

"I swear to God, one of these times he's actually going to manage killing you for good, and what then, Butters?"

"_Shut your fucking mouth, Kyle!!_" His chest hurts. He doesn't want to listen to this, even if it's the truth, even if he knows, deep in his heart, that Kyle _is_ telling the truth; even if he knows that Eric isn't his friend, he can still _pretend_ that someone fucking_ cares_ about him instead of leaving him at the _wayside_ like they _always do_. "Shut up, he's my friend, he said so--" 

He's crying. Huh.

"Well, he isn't exactly known for telling the _truth_, is he?" He rubs tears away from his eyes. It's a truth he doesn't want to face, a stress that makes his heart ache, even beyond the physical ramifications, but he doesn't want to confront it; because then he has to face all of the things Eric's done in the name of 'friendship', and he can't face that, either.

He could just… lock it away in the back of his mind, where he puts all of the things he doesn't know how to deal with, if push comes to shove. He's real good at that.

“... shit, dude, stop crying. Come on.” Well, he can’t stop crying, so. That’s that. 

“He’s my friend, he, he said so an’ friends don’t, they don’t _lie_, Kyle--”

“You know he’s not, Butters. Just because he hangs around you doesn’t make you his friend. He’s not my friend, either!”

… huh? “What- he isn’t?”

“No, dude! Yes, we hang out, and yes, he refuses to leave me alone, but just because we have a few, _sparingly_ few enjoyable moments together does_ not_ make us friends in, like… any conceivable way. He may have this warped view of the whole thing, but he is _not_ my friend. He's not yours. It's a _good_ thing."

He doesn't… why wouldn't they be friends? They hang out. "... But you… y'all spend a lot of time together. You- why would he spend so much time with you if you ain't his friend?"

"Because he's a neonazi and a sadist, and he hates me. If I'm happy, he's pissed off, and nothing makes him happier than pissing _me_ off." Kyle seems pretty self aware of the nature of their relationship- he guesses he can't even call it a friendship, now. He always thought that Kyle and Eric were friends, the way Eric obsesses over him sometimes in conversation; he doesn't want to think about it with Kyle's perspective in mind, but when he does, because his mind just can't help itself…

It makes sense.

It makes harrowing, ugly sense, in the same way that he doesn't want to admit that they're not friends, either; he rubs at his eyes, sniffs away any tear-induced snot, and rubs his face on his blanket. Kyle makes a face of disgust, shuffles away a little in his chair, but ultimately, he doesn't leave. 

"... Are _you_ my friend?"

"Shit- what?" Oh, he didn't think that question would catch Kyle off guard, but what else would he expect?

“You said just because- just because you two hang out, that doesn't mean you’re friends. Are you _my_ friend?” It’s a reasonable question. He thinks. Maybe.

He watches Kyle think about it, still vaguely confused, still grasping at straws, trying to salvage the situation- and then he speaks, so he goes quiet and listens. “Of course I’m your friend, dude.” There’s a sigh, and Kyle collects his thoughts, maybe, runs his hands back over his face, and scrubs at his eyes for a moment or two. “It’s… you’re my friend in the same way that Kenny’s my friend. Sort of? Because Kenny’s been my friend longer, and he kind of dragged you into our friend group officially outside of Cartman dragging you along to do whatever he fucking wants-”

He stops himself, pauses, and continues. For a second there, he thought Kyle was going to go on a tangent. He’s… sort of glad he didn’t? “But at the same time, it’s- frustrating? Being your friend is so fucking _frustrating_. You’re such a dipshit, sometimes, and you’re into all this girly shit, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but you don’t even know that you’re getting ripped on all the time for it! Then there’s Cartman, and I can see him turning you into a little asshole, Butters- it’s _hard_, being your friend, but yes. I am your friend. You’re… nice? When you’re not being an asshole.”

… he laughs. He laughs, and then laughs some more, and maybe he’s a little hysterical, because he did just wake up after having a big heart attack, and he learned something big today- so he’s allowed a couple of laughs. Wiping at his eyes one more time, he sniffs, accepts the answer as sufficient, and shuffles to sit up straight. Kyle looks more than his fair share of alarmed. He doesn’t blame him.

“I think you’re a good pal, too, Kyle. I dunno a lot a’ people who’d stay in a hospital with me, ‘sides for Eric, maybe, but only to visit, and usually… not really to visit?” He thinks about that for a moment, but lets it drop. “Just kind of to pester me about something’ I ain’t done right. Y’all are usually… pretty nice to me, though! Y’all tell the other guys off sometimes when they’re bein’ mean to me, and, and you hang out with me, too! I… if we’re bein’ honest, like you said stuff about me, too, I kind of think you’re a dick, but well- somebody once told me that everybody’s kind of a dick, an’ that can’t be helped, none.” A firm nod.

Kyle just… laughs a little, too, leans back in his chair, and some of the tension eases. “... I ain’t gonna have to shove no suppository up my butt to make sure my heart doesn't explode, right? The doctors didn’t say nothin’ about that?” That earns a snort.

“No, I don’t think that’s how it works. I’m pretty sure they’d make you take actual pills for your heart if something were actually broken. Besides, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have let me stay if they knew something were actually wrong, not to mention Hell’s Pass’s doctors are just- really fucking incompetent, dude, it’s wild! The amount of laws they break daily is insane!” He feels… okay.

He thinks he’ll be okay.

Surprisingly, he’s not as torn up after the fact about Eric not being his friend than he thought he was going to be. He lets himself think about it for a few moments while Kyle rants about the incompetency and illegal doctoring methods used by the Hell’s Pass hospital team; he thinks, perhaps, he always knew deep down that Eric wasn’t his pal. He didn’t like it, so he didn’t think about it, and he didn’t particularly like Eric in the first place- but it’s hard not to want to be his friend with how charismatic he can be, sometimes.

It’s… hard to tell him no. To try and think about what he’s saying while he’s saying it and think about whether or not it’s true. Whether or not he means what he’s saying. He knows that Eric’s a dick, that he likes to have the last word, that he thinks a lot of untrue things as certainties and tries to tell him they’re as true as he says, and he’d like to believe him, but… when everyone else is against him, and he’s trying to drag him along for the ride and he always gets hurt-

He thinks he gets it. Just a little.

“... thanks, Kyle.”

Kyle pauses mid breath and blinks. “... no problem? You’re my friend, like I said. I’ve got your back. … unless you, you know, deserve it, like with the vape shit. You deserved that.” That earns a weak chuckle. Yeah, he kind of deserves the consequences from that one. That was on him and Eric.

He goes to respond, but the door opens, then, and there’s a familiar face. “Hey, sorry we’re late, the doctors were being assholes- they kept saying something about visiting hours, but we told you we were your cousins twice removed, so we got in early.” It’s Stan and Kenny, though Kenny has his parka hoodie down, and his face is in full view. Wow! He missed being able to hear his voice clearly!

“Y’all came to visit me?”

“Well, yeah! You’re our friend! We also stole Cartman's Nintendo Switch so we could all play Splatoon together until we get kicked out. Stan brought some snacks.” Stan waves from his spot next to Kenny.

“You… wow, I- y’all really went out of your way for me?” He feels… special, almost. He knows that the attention is only because he’s in the hospital, but it’s nice to feel wanted, for once. To feel loved and needed in any minute, miniscule amount, to be noticed and appreciated; he doesn’t want it to end.

"Oh, sweet, you're here, Kyle? When'd you get here?" Kyle lets out a groan and leans back in his seat. 

"Don't fucking get me _started_, Stan."

As Kenny takes a seat on the end of the bed and Stan stands over next to Kyle, and chatter starts to fill the room, Kyle bitching to Stan about the doctors at Hell's Pass and Kenny trying to show him how to play Splatoon, he feels… content.

He knows it won't last. Eventually, he'll get out of the hospital and things will return to normal, and he'll go back to being the butt of everyone's jokes, like it always goes. But for now, he has this, he has his best friend and good friends with him while he recovers.

He has clarity. That's all he needs.


End file.
